There lay upon the table before him a paper with notes upon it. He took it up, looked at it, and laid it down again. Then he turned to Elsie and smiled—he actually smiled—he unmistakably smiled. 'At twenty-one,' he said, 'some young ladies who are heiresses come into their property——'
'Those who are heiresses. Unhappily, I am not.'
'Come into their property—their property. It must be a beautiful thing for a girl to come into property, unexpectedly, at twenty-one. For a man, a temptation to do nothing and to make no more money. Bad! Bad! But for a girl already engaged, a girl who wants money, a girl who is engaged—eh—to a penniless young solicitor——'
Elsie turned crimson. This was the thing she expected.
'Under such circumstances, I say, such a stroke of fortune would be providential and wonderful, would it not?'
She blushed and turned pale, and blushed again. She also felt a strong disposition to cry—but repressed that disposition.
'In your case, for instance, such a windfall would be most welcome. Your case is rather a singular case. You do not belong to a family which has generally disregarded money—quite the reverse—you should inherit the love of money—yet you propose to throw away what I believe are very good prospects, and——'
'My only prospect is to marry George Austin.'
'So you think. I have heard from your mother, and I have seen your sister Hilda. They object very strongly to the engagement.'
'I know, of course, what they would say.'